The Son

The Son
Автор книги: id книги: 1558857     Оценка: 0.0     Голосов: 0     Отзывы, комментарии: 0 272,21 руб.     (2,77$) Читать книгу Купить и скачать книгу Купить бумажную книгу Электронная книга Жанр: Контркультура Правообладатель и/или издательство: Ingram Дата добавления в каталог КнигаЛит: ISBN: 9781908236524 Скачать фрагмент в формате   fb2   fb2.zip Возрастное ограничение: 0+ Оглавление Отрывок из книги

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Описание книги

'The Son' follows one night in the life of a hero with no name, a writer whose life is falling apart. That afternoon, his wife left him, while for many years he has been in conflict with his father, who blames him for his mother s death. Incapable of finding inner calm, he leaves into the warm, Mediterranean night, in the city of Ulcinj, itself a multilayered mixture of European dimensions, African influences, and the communist past. The hero of The Son is a man who can t adapt to new times and rules. On his journey into the night, he meets an assortment of characters: a piano student from Vienna who has abandoned his musical career and converted to Islam, a radical Christian preacher and a group of refugees from Kosovo. In the style of Mihail Bulgakov, the characters meet in the old city of Ulcinj, at the Square of the Slaves a location where the pirates who lived in the city until the 19th century would bring and sell captured slaves, including Miguel de Cervantes, according to legend.

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Andrej Nikolaidis. The Son

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Отрывок из книги

The Son

Andrej Nikolaidis

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I soon tired of the scene. Three helicopters were now in operation, and it was plain to see that they would defeat the fire in what would be one more triumph of technology. Once technology and nature were pitted against each other in this way I felt there was nothing left for me. And yet I simply couldn’t make up my mind as to which was more monstrous: nature itself or the methods people employ in order to dominate it. Before turning and going back into the room, I glanced over to my father’s house. The lights were off, but I knew he wasn’t asleep.

It was at that point that I heard the bleating of goats. The neighbour must have been herding a flock along the road towards the house. ‘Eh, mate!’ I heard him call, and that sound made the blood freeze in my veins. I wasn’t prepared for a conversation with him. I wasn’t in the state of mind to thank him for saving my father’s goats from the fire, or to invite him in for a drink and have a good talk like good neighbours and real men are supposed to.

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